The Devil's Diaries
by inevitabledestinybook
Summary: A sixteen-year-old Californian teenage girl,learns that she is not human and Judgement day is coming.She falls in-love with a mysterious boy.


KELLY BLACK'S

INEVITABLE DESTINY

PART1

THE BEGINNING

"To my dear Vanessa Sally, whose five years of sleepless nights, gave birth to an epic piece of literature"

Table of Contents

1. The Ritual 3

2. My First Day of Freedom 14

3. Back To School 25

4. High School 39

5. First Bump 50

6. New Neighbors 65

7. Casual Conversation 75

8. The Pyramid 85

9. The Movieality 97

10. Confession 109

11. Rebel Abel 121

12. Playing around 134

13. Housewarming Party 144

14. The Basic Truth 157

The Ritual

There was nothing that I could do to stop them. It was their anniversary and Mom and Dad were ready to leave. Dad had moved to the counter and was surreptitiously scraping icing from their 11th anniversary cake with his finger. He smiled sheepishly when he saw I'd caught him in the act. Mom had one of those 'feelings' again and she wasn't sure about leaving me that night.

"Mom, I'm ten and a half. I'll be fine. Besides, it's your anniversary and you should go and celebrate for a change." Then I tried something saying new "I'm old enough to stay home by myself." I said.

"By yourself?!" Dad cut me off. "Absolutely Not."

I was afraid he was going to say that. I wished my parents start trusting me for a change. It was 2033 and we didn't have any crime in our neighborhood for a while.

"Kiki should be here any minute; you're not staying in this house by yourself. Nice try, young lady." Mom added.

"Kiki?!" My voice cracked. I wasn't happy to hear that name again. But it was too late. Mom and dad were dressed up and ready to go. I couldn't ruin their first night out in years.

"Is there a problem?" Mom sounded concerned. She was about to put her purse on the table when-

"Go," I sighed. I didn't want to ruin their anniversary dinner. "I'm _fine."_ But I wasn't fine. I was upset.

I got up from the table to hug them. Mom held my cheeks with her hands and kissed me on my forehead.

"Oops!" She wiped at a spot above my right eyebrow; there must have been a lip print left behind.

"Come here, little baby," Dad called for his own hug. I went over to him and let him hold me, tight.

"I'm not a little baby anymore, Dad, I almost eleven" I sighed.

"I know. But to me, you'll always be _my_ little baby," he whispered. A few moments passed. I was still in his arms. I was all in favor of parents demonstrating affection for their children, but ...

"Dad?"

"Yes, Nessa?"

"You can let go now. I need to get my circulation back."

"Oh, sorry." He let go, smiled and patted on my head.

"Go on," I instructed them. "And have a good time."

Three sharp knocks came from the front door.

"There's Kiki. Right on time," Dad said. He'd just put another finger full of icing between his lips. Considering how good the cake was, I couldn't blame him a bit.

We went to the door and Dad opened it. As he'd predicted, there was Kiki, my babysitter from hell.

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Garner. Hi Nessa," Kiki said in a sweet voice that you wouldn't expect to come from a teen girl whose face was covered in piercings. Actually, Kiki was very pretty, with a dark complexion and absolutely spectacular eyelashes. At sixteen, her body already seemed fully developed, and she liked showing it off. As usual, she wore all black; her tight shirt and short skirt were pockmarked by little holes she had made herself. We went to the same school, though she was several grades ahead of me.

"Hi, Kiki," Dad said. "Thanks for being punctual."

"Of course, sir," Kiki said. She was unfailingly polite. "You both have a great time. She's in good hands."

Suddenly, I shivered. When she'd said, "_She's in good hands,"_ I'd gotten the weirdest feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if something bad were going to happen.

"Mom? Dad? Can we talk for a sec?" I whispered.

My dad looked closely at me. My mom was also gazing at me with concern.

"Kiki, do you mind waiting in the living room?" Dad asked. He offered the babysitter a polite smile.

Mom nodded. "Just for a moment."

Kiki smiled back at my father and headed for the living room. When she was sure my parents weren't looking, she made a scary hand slice at her own neck. "You'll pay for this," she mouthed.

There were two ways that I could take that, and neither of them was good. One, she was going the kick the hell out of me at school if I cost her this job. Two, when my parents departed, she was going to make my life miserable.

"What's going on, Nessa?" Dad asked when we were alone.

"Umm, you know, I think I'm old enough to stay by myself. In fact, I know I am. I don't need Kiki. I don't need any babysitter. It's _humiliating_."

I hoped with all my heart that they would take me seriously.

My mother touched me on the shoulder to reassure me. "Oh Nessa, I know she isn't your favorite. Everyone else was booked. You seemed fine the last time Kiki was here."

"Because I locked myself in my room and didn't come out till you got home!"

My father rubbed his chin, which he always did when he was thinking deeply. "You know, Laura, Kiki is at the bottom of our babysitter list. And we've got Smarthome. We can just set it to alert us if there's any problem. We can even turn on the cams and keep an eye on what's happening."

Mom shook her head. "Absolutely not! You're the only one that knows how to operate it. Smarthome is not reliable enough without you being here. What if there's a power failure that turns off the system? Don't you remember what happened at the Porters' when they left their kid by himself?"

"Jason Porter was seven, Nessa is almost eleven!" My dad scowled. "Nessa knows not to open the door to anyone except us. And the Porters didn't have Smarthome!" He sighed. "Laura, you and Nessa figure this out. I'm going wait in the car. Nessa, see you in a couple of hours."

He stomped away. When he was gone, my mother turned to me. "Kiki is staying," she told me. "Take some food to your room if you want. Call your dad's Celltellite if there's a problem. _Any_ problem," she emphasized. "We'll be back soon."

I felt a little sick as she kissed me on my cheek and called to Kiki in the living room. "Kiki? We'll be back by ten. Call us if there is a problem!" Mom yelled and a moment later, she was gone, and Kiki came back from the living room. She opened the front door and waved to my parents as they pulled away. Then she closed the door, locked it, and smiled ominously.

"Anniversary?" she sneered. "Isn't that _precious_?" She pointed toward the stairs. "You know the drill, Weirdo."

I thought it was sort of ironic that she, of all people, had bestowed the nickname Weirdo on me. Like, what was Kiki with that pierced face? Normal?

"Up to your room, be quiet, leave me alone. Do your homework, or not, I don't care. Call your little friends and invite them over—oh, wait. I forgot. You don't have any friends."

I started toward the stairs. Kiki gave me a shove as I passed, and I tumbled to my knee. I turned around to glare at her, hate glinting in my eyes like sunlight off the skin of a rattlesnake.

She laughed. "Whatever, Weirdo. You want to look at me like that? Be my guest. I get paid no matter what."

I got to my feet and trudged upstairs. This would be the last time I would have to deal with her, I swore to myself. I was already making a list of potential new babysitters from the neighborhood. Anyone would be better than Kiki.

I took a deep breath as I went into my room and shut the door. It wasn't worth fighting her. I need to last one last night, stay out of Kiki's hair, and then when mom and dad are back, no more Kiki, forever.

Not ten minutes later, Smarthome announced a visitor. That was strange. We weren't expecting anyone. I opened my door and heard Kiki downstairs chatting with a few people. I recognized one of the voices—her boyfriend, Trevor. He came over a lot when she was working. Kiki obviously added him to guest list or Smarthome wouldn't have let her bring him in. He had the same piercings and radical look as Kiki, but I'd decided he was harmless—before the last time she'd babysat for me, that is, when he'd looked me up and down in a way that had made me feel very uncomfortable.

Kiki had noticed and cracked about Little Miss Weirdo having no idea what sex was. After that, Trevor looked at me again, in an even creepier way.

I hadn't told my parents about it. I didn't want them to worry, and I wanted to take care of myself—not be the kind of girl who goes running to Mommy and Daddy when a guy gives her a creepy look.

Still, I left my room and took a few steps down the stairs until I had a clear view into the living room. As I'd suspected, Trevor was now with Kiki. He would have been considered attractive if it weren't for the tribal tattoos covering half his face. He wore torn black clothes that just happened to reveal the biggest muscles in his arms and chest. As he chatted up my babysitter, he downed a full can of airbeer, burped, and tossed the can over his shoulder.

There were three other teenagers down there, too. Two guys and girl. The girl was a petite redhead. One of the guys was tall and blond; the other shorter and African American. I'd never seen them before. The girl was already making out with the blond dude on our couch.

The other guy stood seriously, not far from Kiki and Trevor. I heard Trevor call him Garret. He was older, slim and clean-shaven, and his hair was as perfectly shaped as a banker's.

Huh. Strange. This wasn't the typical person to be hanging out with Kiki and Trevor. He wore a long black coat that fluttered as he moved. In his right hand was an old book with a faded leather cover. On his back was a small black backpack.

What were these people doing here? I fingered my mom's cell phone in my pocket. I was almost ready to call them, but was curious to learn why this group was assembling in my living room. It didn't make sense. Not yet, anyway.

Kiki liked to call me Weirdo, but over the next several minutes, it was she and her friends who went to Bizarro Land. First, Garret walked to the center of our living room, opened up his backpack, and started placing dozens of black candles on the hardwood floor. I watched him arrange them into a five-pointed star. He then took a chunk of purple chalk and traced a circle around the star. I shuddered. The symbol looked so familiar. Ah! I had it! It looked like one of those signs from a scary movie about satanic rituals. Then he drew a larger circle around the smaller one, almost as if he were enveloping the symbol inside its own universe.

As Garret was working, Kiki and her friends drifted away toward the kitchen and came back with cans of airbeer and the remains of the birthday cake. They drank and ate as Garret finished his project. Kiki licked frosting from Trevor's fingers, while the other girl and guy fed each other slices of cake—so gross.

Garret didn't notice, though. He was too intent on his drawing. It was almost as if his work was transporting him to another time and place.

Finally, Garret stepped back and called out something I couldn't understand to the others. It had to be a signal to assemble, because they obediently ceased their eating and flirting and stepped toward Garret. Garret positioned them where he wanted them, at four of the five points of the star. Then, on another signal, they sat cross-legged and laced their fingers in their laps.

There was no wisecracking now. The mood was deadly serious.

"Smarthome?" Kiki ordered. "Lights off."

The living room lights snapped out. Trevor flicked his lighter, lit a candle, and passed it to Kiki. She used the candle to light the others. They burned unnaturally bright, with a harsh yellow light that sent shadows flickering across the living room walls.

Garret opened the old book. Now that it was candlelit, I could make out that it had figures and symbols etched into the leather. I squinted, disbelieving what my eyes were seeing. It seemed as if pulsing waves of gray-blue light were emanating from the book.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. No, I told myself. That wasn't possible. Books do not glow.

I looked again. The weird glow was still there. I felt my heart start to race, and my hands clenched into tight fists. It was the oddest thing. I prided myself on being able to stay cool, but the sight of that eerie leather book was unleashing primal emotions in my soul. The strongest of them all was anger.

Garret was the only one standing as he opened the book. The teens bowed their heads in silent respect. From my vantage point, I could see that the pages were worn and brittle, some of them missing chunks from the corners. When had this book even been published? It had to be hundreds of years old!

As I watched, transfixed, Garret started reading aloud in a language I didn't recognize. My first thought was to turn on the translation program on my mom's phone and see if the program could pick up the language. But before I could do that, a loud ringing sound reverberated through my head.

I put my hands to my ears, but the ringing was inside my head—shutting my ears only made it louder. At the same time, my stomach rumbled audibly, like air and acid were being pumped in to roil the half-digested cake from my birthday celebration.

The yellow light of the candles on the living room floor seemed to shift. The air went black, and white sparkles flew upward from the candles. I could see nothing but those white sparkles—they were all around me, bursting like exploding stars.

I wanted to retreat to my room, but couldn't see the way back. The best I could hope for was to drag myself up the stairs. My muscles burned, making even that movement laborious.

Garret paused in his reading; the other four responded to him in English. "Come to us, Dark One."

With those words, a sharp pain stabbed my gut. I hugged my stomach and groaned. What was happening? Pain knifed through me again. With another moan, I tumbled down the stairs, crying out when I reached the bottom. I'd twisted my ankle and landed clumsily on my left elbow, but that wasn't what was most agonizing. It felt as though my insides were being torn to shreds. I was sure I was dying.

"Nessa!" Kiki hissed. "I told you to stay upstairs!"

I was suffering too much to respond.

Trevor ran to me first. "I think she's hurt!"

The others circled me, looking concerned, until Garret called out. He hadn't budged from his spot in the circled pentagram of candles. "We're in ceremony," he reminded. "Remember to whom you are responsible, and before whom you stand."  
Kiki was immediately apologetic. "Sorry, Garret. We can throw her back in her room. She wouldn't bother us anymore!"

"No," Garret said scornfully. "Too late. She should have considered that when she decided to spy. Bring her to me."

I felt myself lifted by my arms and legs. The four of them carried me into the living room and placed me where Garret directed, at the center of all the candles. The candles flickered again, shifting back to that unnatural yellow. I tried to move but couldn't. My arms and legs felt as if they were bolted to the wood.

Garret started reading again in that strange foreign language. Each word was like a pinprick to my intestines. He turned the page, and his voice grew louder. He waved one hand around, and the pinpricks turned to ice picks, jabbing the very depths of me.

I turned my head and bellowed into the floor. How could this be happening? How could this be real? I had never felt anything like it. The room went blurry and started to spin. Acid welled up into my esophagus, and I willed myself not to vomit.

"Stop," I breathed pitifully. "Why are you doing this?"

Garret continued reading, the teens staring at me with pure hate. When Garret stopped his reading, Kiki's friends responded by bowing their heads and closing their eyes.

"Come to us, Dark One," they chanted in unison, in English.

Suddenly—it was like I had a translation program in my head—I found myself understanding Garret's words as he spoke again. I couldn't identify the language; I knew I couldn't speak it. But, somehow, I could understand it.

"Accept this sacrifice, Dark Lord," Garret continued. "Your humble, eager servants bid you welcome. Come to us. We offer ourselves to you. We offer this girl to you."

I found my eyes finally able to focus on him. I saw bits of spittle shooting out from Garret's lips with the words.

"Come to us, Dark One," the rest responded.

"Nooooo!" I shrieked.

"Nessa!" Kiki exclaimed. She stared at me with her mouth open. "Your eyes!"

What? What about my eyes?

The other girl gasped at me. "What's wrong with her?"

The tall guy next to her stared at me, too. "Jeezly!"

What? What were they talking about? My arms and legs felt leaden, but I twisted the top of my torso, looking for something—anything!—that would show me my reflection.

The flat-screen television. We had a floor-to-ceiling model on the far wall. When I saw myself in it, I gasped too. My eyes, normally a limpid blue, were glowing bright green, as luminous as hot coals.

Garret stopped reading and stepped toward me. "Interesting."

"What's happening, Garret?!" Kiki sounded panicked.

"So, it's true," he said.

The tall guy piped up. "What's true?"

"That this book belongs to GOD," Garret intoned. "A young man who claimed to be an angel gave it to me, with instructions to perform this ritual."

"So, what are you saying?" Trevor asked. "This book is the real deal?"

Garret nodded. "Well, it appears to be. I am not sure why he came to me. But it has to do with this house, with this girl."

"What do we do now?" Kiki asked.

As for me, there was nothing I could do. I still felt pinned to my spot, as helpless as a bound heifer.

"I am not sure," Garret went on. "I am starting to believe he set us up."

"Who set us up? And how, Garret?" Kiki demanded.

"I believe the lamb is now the wolf and we have become the lambs." Garret's voice was calm and direct.

The blond kid got angry. "Can you maybe speak English? 'Cause this is kind of freaking us all out!"

"I am sad to say that we are in the wrong place at the wrong time," Garret said.

"What does that mean, Garret?" the blond guy hissed.

"Well, we came here to summon our lord, and he showed himself to us."

"Are you out of your mind?" Trevor demanded.

Garret held up a warning finger. "We are his offering. The ritual is complete."

With the word "complete," I felt my body relax. The pain was gone. My vision was normal. Even my eyes felt cool and normal. But inside, I was full of rage.

"Welcome," Garret said to me.

My rage gave way to fear. I had to get out of there.

As Kiki and her friends whispered to each other, I lunged to my feet and bolted at top speed for the door. Trevor and Garret chased me, but collided with each other.

"Where do you think you are going?" Trevor shouted.

"Let her go." Garret commanded.

A moment later, I was out the door and in the street. I turned around to face my house. From the outside, it looked normal, not a sign of the horrifying cultish ritual I had just witnessed.

"This is my house!" I screamed.

I no longer felt the stabbing pains in my stomach. Instead, a terrible pressure built inside me. It was like my ears needed to pop—but the sensation was far worse. My vision zoomed in on my house until I could clearly see every piece of trim, every bug crawling on it.

My head felt like it was going to explode. I screamed at the top of my lungs and grabbed my head with my hands. I saw Kiki, Trevor, Garret, and the others watching me through the window, looking unsure. I hated them so much. I wanted to wipe them from the face of the earth like the human stains they were.

Suddenly, dark clouds appeared out of nowhere, blocking the moon. A mist descended, blanketing the street and houses around me in murky gray. Dogs barked; somewhere, an urban coyote howled. A ferocious wind blew out of nowhere, screaming through the trees, beating my clothes against my body. My hair lashed my face like a whip, but I didn't feel it. All I felt was rage. And hate.

"Get the hell out of my house!" My voice sounded deep and distorted.

I closed my eyes; yanked them shut, really. Everything went silent—the coyote, the dogs, the wind. It was if my heart had stopped, as though time stood still in that space between beats. I opened my eyes and saw that the street was growing smaller and thinner, like a cartoon. Then—I knew it was impossible, just like my green glowing eyes had been impossible, but it was happening just the same—I felt my body rising into the misty air.

The fog lifted as my body rose—four feet, then ten feet, then forty feet, and then five hundred feet high, as random sparkles of energy danced around my airborne body like St. Elmo's fire. I saw my house far below. I could even see Kiki and Garret as they stepped outside to look up at me in disbelief.

I gave in to the rage.

My eyes narrowed fiercely. I took a deep breath, opened up my mouth to scream, and ... our house exploded into ten million flaming pieces.

The air left my lungs. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I watched every shard of fiery wood knife through the air in slow motion as a fireball rose with terrible force. I gasped in disbelief.

The ground grew close. My body was landing. I lay down on the plush grass of a neighbor's lawn as softly as a butterfly alights on a magnolia blossom. Time sped up back to normal. There was no wind anymore, no glow around me—just an empty, smoldering crater where my house used to be.

Then, sound came back: car alarms, dogs barking, people screaming. Small fires flickered everywhere. My neighbor's car was aflame. People ran toward me. I could vaguely make out fire trucks and police cars stopping before me, and heard firemen call for everyone to stay back. I felt them pick me up and place me on a stretcher. I heard a flutter by my ears as the world tilted to one side, became blurry, and went black.

2. My First Day of Freedom

I bolted upright in bed, panting. My head was dizzy and my sweaty hair dangled in my face like a dripping fishing net. I pulled my hair back and looked around my room. I'd been dreaming again. Wow. My dreams, as a rule, were vivid. But this one was more vivid even than most. It had felt real.

"Breathe," I told myself. "Breathe."

I checked my iWallet. I'd set its alarm the night before for 7:15 a.m. I was two minutes early—7:13 a.m., a couple of minutes to pull myself together before I showered. I called out to the iRoom computer: "iRoom? Shower on! Heat robe! Heat bathroom!"

_No sooner had I issued those commands than I heard knocking at my bedroom door. _

_"Nessa, it's a big day today. Are you up?" my mom called._

_"I'm uh-up!" My throat was so dry that my voice cracked. I cleared my throat, hoping to get to where I could speak an entire sentence in case my mother wanted to have an actual conversation. _

_"You're off in thirty minutes. Remember ... you wanted this! Don't forget!"_

_"I know, I know," I told her. "Please let me get ready."_

_She'd told me not to forget. Please. How could I forget? Today was my first day at a real high school. No more homeschooling—I was going to have actual classmates. The prospect filled me with both anticipation and dread. It had been a long time since I'd sat in a classroom with other kids. I hoped I would like it again._

_I rushed into my bathroom and stepped into the shower. iRoom had set the controls for quick-wash; I tried to relax as multiple jets of hot water hit me from all angles. After a quick rinse, the water was replaced by warm air that dried me completely. _

_There was no time to wash my hair, even though I'd gotten so sweaty in my dream. Oh well. I stepped into the warmed robe that was hanging on a hook and stood in front of the mirror. I looked okay—about five foot five, average weight, nice smile, dark blond hair with medium highlights. Not the cutest, but definitely not the ugliest. That was fine. I knew that the best way to fit in at my new school was to be right in the middle._

_Brush. I thought. "Don't forget to brush." I told myself._

_I found my sonic toothbrush and put it to work. When I was done, I checked my teeth for any leftover food—I hadn't had anything to eat since I'd brushed before bedtime, but a girl starting at a new school couldn't be too careful—then rinsed with my favorite organic mint mouthwash. I couldn't take a chance that other kids would decide I had bad breath. I knew that a sullied reputation could follow me for the rest of my high school career. _

_"I can do this." I looked at myself again in the mirror as my stomach turned over. It was a good thing I hadn't had breakfast, or I might have donated it to the porcelain throne._

_With my mouth in good shape, I took out my Statibrush. If my hair wasn't going to be washed, it would at least be straight and well-shaped. That Statibrush had been a birthday gift from my mother; it was on my short list of things I'd take with me to a deserted island._

_Awesome, I thought as I ran its tines through my thick hair. It never failed—just five minutes of zapping my hair with the Statibrush, and my locks were perfect. But I only had twenty minutes before I had to go. I practically flew back to my room to dress. _

_It was the first day at high school. Hallelujah._

_It had taken quite a bit of arguing to convince Mom to let me go. Dad had been all for it, but my mom had a hard time with the concept. She'd been teaching me at home for four years, ever since I was expelled from middle school when I was twelve._

_I think she loved teaching me more than I loved learning from her. In fact, she'd pretty much dedicated her life to me since I got booted out of seventh grade. She homeschooled me in the morning, worked part-time in the afternoon as a fifth-grade teacher's aide to help my dad out with the bills, then ran back home to be with me as soon as the school day was done. _

_Like I said, I think she was more into it than I was. The fact was that Mom had been driving me kind of nuts lately. She loved me, for sure, but she was incredibly overprotective. It felt like she was always shadowing me, watching me, pestering me, protecting me. If a helicopter mother is someone who always hovers over her kid to make sure the kid is okay, my mom was a whole fleet of helicopter mothers rolled into one person. Underneath it all, I knew she wanted the best for me, but that didn't make her any less irritating. The more years she'd been homeschooling me, the more annoying it felt._

_Not that I wasn't grateful. I didn't have much choice. _

_At last, Dad convinced her to let me go to regular high school. The fact was, I'd sort of outgrown her ability to teach me. For four years now, we'd been doing the same coursework as the city schools, and finally, I was getting into some heavy-duty subjects: Advanced mathematics, chemistry, and modern world history. There was plenty of online help, but homeschooling still wasn't enough. _

_Mom knew it, too. When I told her she was going to cripple me, academically, she could hardly argue. And when I reminded her that I would be applying to college in a few years, and at the rate I was going wouldn't even be allowed into Valley Community College for the Academically Very Far Behind (actually called just Valley Community College, but it's for the dumbest of the dumb kids), that did it. She might have been scared for my welfare, but she didn't want her bright daughter to be trapped at Valley Community College. That was the day that Mom and Dad called the school district about getting me re-enrolled. _

_I had laid out my clothes on my chair the night before, but I stared at them now in moderate despair. It was a given that I didn't own any of the trendy clothes that other kids had to be wearing. There was no point. I didn't go to school, and rarely gave much thought to how I looked—I had hardly left the house in four years. But today, people other than my mom and dad would see me. And judge me. _

_All I had to choose from were a couple pairs of pants, a few nondescript T-shirts, and a lot of running shorts and cut-off shirts that I wore when I jogged to the park and back with my dad. Even so, I had spent over an hour the night before picking out my outfit. I wanted to make the right first impression. _

_ Finally, I realized that I was worried about the wrong thing. What I really needed to do was make no impression. I didn't want to stick out. Nothing too pretty, nothing too dingy, nothing too bright, nothing too dark—I just wanted to fit in. For that purpose and that purpose alone, my clothes were actually perfect. _

_I'd picked out a gray blouse and black pants. I put them on, wondering if I should take a jacket. Did kids at my new school wear jackets? I had no idea. It was warm for jackets, but maybe jackets were part of the unofficial school uniform, and if I showed up without a jacket I'd be tagged as "No-Jacket Girl," and my rep would be ruined forever... _

_"Stop." I told myself. "At least you get to leave the house. You gain some, you lose some. Like Dad says, 'The universe has a balance, and you have to accept it.'"_

_Okay. I put on some flat black shoes, which made me officially dressed. I took in my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my door. _

_Ugh. I looked horrible—like a junior version of an old-lady math teacher. No! No, no, no! Too adult. Too stuffy. No way was I going to school looking like an algebra specialist. Gotta change, gotta change, gotta change—_

_"Fifteen minutes, Nessa!" Mom called from downstairs._

_I tore off the blouse and slacks, dug through my drawers, and started heaving clothes over my shoulder. Finally, I found what I was looking for: a faded pair of jeans and a black T-shirt that read "Real-T" in yellow. I pulled them on and checked out my reflection again. Better. The black shirt accentuated my natural dirty-blond highlights. The jeans fit a lot better than the old lady black slacks. At least I looked teenager-y, instead of like a refugee from the teachers' lounge._

_Okay. What else? Backpack and iWallet. Bless my mom, she'd added fifty dollars to my account. Suddenly, my mom's over protectiveness felt a lot more like she was looking out for me. She was the best. _

_I took the stairs two at a time and rushed into the kitchen. A cup of hot chocolate was waiting for me. Dad was drinking coffee, watching the international news play on the iWall. He was a news junkie in addition to being a neat freak. It was not a great combination. The things happening in the world were almost impossible for anyone to keep straight. _

_Even with her head turned to the iCuisine, Mom heard me enter. As I sat at the table, the frying pan was beeping, and the gas flame under the burner turned itself off automatically. The eggs and potatoes were done exactly the way I liked them. Mom had timed it all perfectly. _

_Even though Smarthome could be programmed to take its cue from the shower or the sensors on the stairs to start breakfast cooking, Mom preferred to do it the old-fashioned way. Well, almost the old-fashioned way. I've seen on videos that people used to have to pay attention to how hot the burners would get. Not anymore. No one with iCuisine had burned a meal since it came out. My mother was almost as good as the iCuisine chef, though. She always knew when to start cooking. It was if she had a sixth sense, knowing where I was in the house every minute. _

_"Good morning." I sat next to Dad._

_"Good morning, princess," Dad welcomed me, sipping his cup of freshly brewed coffee that Mom always made for him. "Laura, the coffee is stupendous. Thank you."_

_"Thanks for the money, Mom, you're the best," I added to Dad's compliment. _

_Mom turned and gave me a brave smile. "You're welcome, both of you. Now, let me know if there is anything else you need before you leave." _

_I knew today was going to be hard on her. It made sense that she would be a little sad, watching me leave for my first day of school away from home in four years. I tried to look cheerful. The last thing she needed to know was that I was as nervous as she was, if not more. _

_"What about me?" Dad asked. "What am I? A bag of stale microwave popcorn?"_

_He turned toward us from the iWall when a commercial came on, then reached to muss my hair. But I dodged him perfectly—no way was I going to let him mangle my 'do, not today. _

_"Aren't I the best, too?" Dad said, smiling, trying to extract a compliment. After all, he was always on my side when it came to school issues._

_"You are, Dad. The bestest dad any Nessa could want."_

_"That's my girl," he said, then swiveled back toward the screen to see if the news was resuming. Nope. It was just a commercial for the new hotel in Las Vegas with the anti-gravity beds. I had to admit that if my folks said we were going there for the weekend, I wouldn't have said no. Those beds looked unbelievably comfortable. It was hard to believe anyone—myself including—could ever have a nightmare sleeping in one._

_He sipped his coffee. "Are you excited to start school today? I know you've been waiting for a long time."_

_"Yeah, I can't wait." I smiled and ate some of my eggs. I wanted to finish before Mom could declare that I had lost my appetite because I had a mystery stomach virus and decided to keep me home. _

_"Slow down, tiger ..." Dad put his hand over my food. "You don't want to get a stomachache on the way, right?" _

_"I don't get stomachaches, Dad."_

_He wagged a finger at me as I kept eating. "There's always a first time." _

_Mom shuffled over to the table with her own plate to join us, her slippers swooshing on the kitchen tiles._

_"Thanks for the great breakfast, Mom," I said, and immediately started eating again. Mom's breakfast was simple: a cup of black coffee, three slices of tomato, and one sliced hardboiled egg. She was very careful about her diet, and never ate or drank anything that came in a can or a box. She even bought coffee beans whole and ground them herself. Our fruits and vegetables came from her organic garden._

_I glanced at my dad's coffee. It looked so good, and I was still a little foggy from that nightmare. Careful to check that his eyes were on the news, I sneaked a big sip. At least, I thought I'd sneaked it. He whirled toward me. _

_"Hey! Coffee is for grownups."_

_"Let her have it, Ray," Mom said. "She's not a little girl anymore. I'll make you a fresh cup. Where's the—oh! Are we really out of milk already?"_

_"Look who's coming outside," Dad said. _

_Dad was right. We could see through the kitchen window that the daily delivery truck had pulled into our driveway. Like everything else we ate, Mom insisted on fresh milk. She shut the cooler and waited. Quickly enough, the light on the cooler door turned green, meaning the delivery man had finished filling it from the outside. Mom opened the door and took out the fresh bottle of milk. Then I watched her add "raw sugar" and "fresh chocolate" to the cooler's Vidscreen for the next day's delivery. In the olden days, people used to have to go to supermarkets to shop. How inefficient! _

_Meanwhile, Dad's eyes were still glued to the newscast. He wasn't much of a conversationalist—certainly not about things like feelings and emotions—but he sure liked to talk about what was going on around the world. There was a lot to talk about, because the world was a dangerous place. Six wars raged around the planet, a new flu strain of unknown origin was sweeping through Central Africa, and the Mars Space Station was experiencing a tricky ammonia leak that the astronauts had to go on a spacewalk to fix. _

_"Dad," I said around a mouthful of eggs, "do you think it'll ever be safe to take a vacation to France?"_

_"Not for a long time," Dad said. "Europe isn't safe for anyone right now, especially USNA citizens."_

_"I really wish we could travel. I've never been anywhere. Not like you and Mom. You guys have been everywhere."_

_"That's true. But the world is a much different place than it was a decade ago." His face turned serious. He clearly didn't want me to get any weird ideas about venturing through jungles and climbing up mountains, or even seeing the Eiffel Tower or Buckingham Palace—not even when I would be legally free one day to make such decisions. He should have had more confidence in me. I knew what was going on in France and England these days. _

_Dad got intense when he spoke about what was happening around the world. I wasn't sure if other parents were discussing world issues with their kids or if my dad was the only one. Either way, he was always passionate about it. It was weird, though, because there was no good reason for him to take such profound interest. He worked for the government, yes, but not at anything glamorous. In fact, most people cringed when they heard he was a number-cruncher for the IRS, the Internal Revenue Service._

_Still, he followed the news religiously, and talked about it all with me. The European Union, the UA (Union of Asia), the Austro-Zealanders, the Russian Federation, you name it—they were all at war with one other. But our country, the USNA—the United States of North America—wasn't involved anymore._

_That didn't mean things were so great here; the long recession of 2007-2019 had nearly destroyed the old United States. Then, in 2020, America itself came under attack from Asia. My dad was in the military then, as a reservist in the Marines. That was when Mexico and Canada merged with the United States to create the United States of North America. Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Belize and Guatemala joined the USNA as well, making our nation the biggest on earth. The theory was that if we were too big to fight with, the other world powers would leave us alone. _

_It turned out the politicians were right. Asia ended its attack. Since the USNA had been formed, we'd stayed neutral in all the conflicts and maintained a self-sustained economy. Our borders had been shut. No new immigration had been allowed unless the president herself, or one of the governors, approved the applications personally. International trade had withered away, but between the United States, Canada, and Mexico, there were plentiful natural resources. _

_When my dad left the military, he'd taken some classes for accounting. That's when he met my mom, who was a student in the education building. She was studying for an elementary education degree so she could complete her credentials to teach. They were in school when the 2022 tsunami hit and left Costa Rica and Panama underwater. I was born a couple of years later, in December 2024. My birth certificate says United States of North America, American territory, state of California._

_"Dad, do you think we'll finally help the people over in Europe? I keep reading articles on my tablet. There are a lot of children suffering."_

_Dad looked from the iWall to me. "It's not just Europe, Nessa. Unfortunately, it's like that in most of the world. But with all the Canadian and Mexican voters with a say in USNA policy, I doubt we'll ever get a majority to attempt any aid at all. It's for the best anyway. We've got enough problems right here at home."_

_I'd asked him once why he didn't stay in the Marines as a career. His eyes had grown very serious, and he'd just said, "I still work for the government, Nessa. Only now, it's with numbers. Besides, I wouldn't have met your mother, or had you, if I did stay."_

_The funny thing was that Dad was terrible with numbers. It was hard to believe he worked for the IRS. It was mostly Mom who took care of our family's finances. She even paid our taxes._

_"iWall." Dad said. "News off." _

_The iWall obeyed, fading from the news broadcast into my Mom's favorite pastel-green wallpaper design. _

_With that, Dad left the kitchen. I heard him rummaging around in the dryer, and then he was back, carrying his zip shoes. "Don't worry about the coffee, Laura. I'll grab some at work, far away from Nessa's sneaky little hands." _

_"All right, have a good day, Ray," Mom said as he leaned down for her to kiss him on the cheek. _

_I smiled. My dad was quite a catch for any woman: tall, dirty blond, handsome, always in great shape, and with a solid, steady job, even if he was a little nerdy. Most importantly, he had a good heart. _

_"Dad," I said. "Can I come to work with you someday?"_

_"Why would you want to do that?" Dad smiled. "It's so boring! Why don't you focus on your first day of school? We'll talk about it another time, okay? Good luck today. I want to hear all about it."_

_A moment later, he was heading into the garage, where the Smarthome had already rolled up the garage door, started the car, and turned on its air conditioner. _

_I dug back into my eggs and potatoes. Mom poured more coffee into Dad's cup, then sat down and moved it toward me. "I won't tell if you won't tell."_

_I smiled, and then took a long swallow. "I won't tell."_

_She stared at me. _

_"Mom," I said after a few more bites. "You're staring. Is it my hair? Should I redo it? Do you think it's okay?"_

_"You look beautiful, Nessa. Really. It's just that you're so big. I can't believe you're sixteen already. Time passes too fast." Mom was getting choked up._

_I stopped eating and looked at her. I really wanted to escape breakfast without any drama. If she got emotional, I would get emotional, too. "It's gonna be fine, Mom. You can see me during lunch. I'll ping you." _

_She looked fragile and tired as she stared down at her hands. "I can't stop thinking about the day you were born. When I held you in my arms for the very first time, you were such a paranoid little thing, with your bright green eyes darting all over the place."_

_"Green?" I asked, surprised._

_"Yes. They were green at first. Later on, when you were three, they turned blue. My point is that mothers have a hard time letting go of their memories. Or maybe we have a hard time letting go at all."_

_My hopes for a drama-free breakfast before the first day of school evaporated. I swallowed hard._

_"Nessa," Mom said, staring straight into my eyes. "I need you to be careful. Don't let anything upset you. Remember ..."_

_"I know, I know, Mom, control my anger," I muttered._

_My mom was always going on about this, like I was a crazy person with anger-management issues or a super-hot temper._

_Mom didn't let up. "It's just that kids can be, well, mean sometimes—especially to the new girl. And don't get frustrated with your teachers if you think you already know what they're teaching. Remember everything we've worked on, the visualizations, the breathing exercises—"_

_"Mom," I interrupted. If anything was going to frustrate me, it was her carrying on about this again. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise. I feel completely ready for this, Mom. Thanks to you." I didn't understand why she was still so upset. I took a deep breath. "I get it, Mom. You love me. I love you. It's gonna be fine."_

_I tried making it all sound like nothing, but she just kept getting more and more upset. I know I should have talked to her some more, but I didn't know what else to say._

_"Okay, Nessa," she said finally._

_That was about as good as it was going to get. "Mom, I don't want to be late. Should I take your car or do you want to drive me to school?"_

_"Neither, I think," she told me._

_"What? How else would I get to school?"_

_"Well ... you could take your car instead."_

_"My car? I don't have a ... Mom, what are you saying?" _

_She grinned. "Your dad and I wanted it to be a surprise."_

_"What?! Are you kidding me? Thank you!"_

_I jumped up and hugged my mom, then danced around the kitchen. My own car? For the first day of school? This was out-of-control great._

_"It's parked in the garage, charged up and ready to go," Mom said. "Your dad wanted to be here, but he got an early business call and had to be in the office by eight. You can thank him when he gets back"_

_I looked over at the auto-wash light by the door, which was blinking green. I put my empty plates into the sink, hit the button, and they disappeared through the little door into the dishwasher._

_"This is amazing, Mom. Thank you! Bye, I'll see you after school!" _

_My mom came over and kissed me on the top of my head._

_"You'll ping me during lunch, right?" Mom said as I opened the door to the garage. _

_"I will!" _

_I stepped into the garage and there it was—my sparkling new car. It was stunning: a pink ginger Ford, two doors. I pressed my finger against the print-pod, the door whooshed opened and I got in. The seat whirred as it adjusted itself to my body, taking my dimensions. From then on, the front seat would be custom-molded to me. And it smelled so good! New-car smell was one of the things that hadn't changed over the years. I knew that the manufacturers sprayed it in these days, but it still smelled great._

_"Car, turn on!" I commanded. "Upload Nessa iRoom playlist." _

_After a moment, the dashboard beeped, signaling that the upload was completed. To start my morning and my first drive behind the wheel of my own car, I wanted to play something upbeat, something to get me psyched and confident to start my school day._

_I had it. _

_"Play 'On My Way' by The Crazy Mosquitoes!"_

_The song booted up immediately. Guitars wailed. Drums thumped. _

_"Car, reverse!" _

_My Ford gave that soft little whistle of an electric car motor turning on. Just like Mom had said, it was fully charged and ready to go. I pulled out of the garage into the driveway and out to the street. I noticed that the small real estate vidsign on the huge gate of the house across the street from us now read "SOLD" rather than "FOR SALE." Someone had finally bought the decrepit old mansion on the cliff. _

_Great, I thought, maybe they would fix it up. _

_I wondered if my mom could hear The Crazy Mosquitoes. Just for the fun of it, I told the computer to kick the music up one more notch. Then I drove away._


End file.
